You are in the oceans of Europe, 165 million years ago.

The sunlight only penetrated the first few feet of the murky, green Jurassic sea, turning the water above into a shimmering ceiling. Below, in the cooler, deeper blue, you maintained your position, observing a school of squid navigating the depths. It was quiet—too quiet.

Then, the squid erupted, fleeing in a frantic cloud of ink.

A shape emerged from the gloom, long and effortlessly streamlined. It wasn’t a plesiosaur or an ichthyosaur. It was a marine crocodile. A Suchodus.

About four meters long, it possessed the slender, elongated snout of a modern gharial, but its body was pure marine predator—no osteoderm armor, just sleek, dark skin built for speed, with a powerful, downward-kinked tail creating a whiplash motion.

Its eyes, large and adapted to the deep, locked onto you. It didn’t display the slow-motion territorialism of a modern croc. It was an active, pelagic hunter. It circled around you, its long, robust jaws—lined with teeth designed for stabbing fish and soft-bodied cephalopods—slightly agape, as it assesses you if you are a tasty snack…